Eye contact
by qwertysweetea
Summary: Grantaire thinks he can make anyone fall in love with him through dance, Enjolras thinks it's a distraction and a waste of time... but takes up the challenge. How I presume Enjolras would react to a sudden flood of feelings: violently.


One of a group of mostly unfinished fanfictions from years ago I'm piling online.

Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim to own Les Misérables or any characters and places associated with Victor Hugo's novel, any screen or stage adaptations and musical soundtracks. No profit is made from the writing for this fanfiction.

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Grantaire was a dancer and he wasn't ashamed of it. Despite his bulky arms and square shoulders he was incredibly agile and gentle in his movements when he had to be. The first time Les Amis de l'ABC saw him dance they were shocked beyond words by the power of his performance. He had been classically trained as a child, presumably in ballet, but as an adult he had taken on more of a contemporary style. He was with movement like Enjolras was with words and it was captivating at most, leaving you exhausted while he came out from it seemingly kempt.

They could only imagine what he would be like if he put any passion behind it, but he tried to keep it separate from his work with Les Amis de l'ABC. Unfortunately for him the two sometimes had a way of conveniently coinciding. Grantaire found himself looking up from his backpack which he was ungraciously stuffing his gear into, into the face of Joly.

Apparently, he sighed to himself, today was going to be one of those days.

"I need you to help me learn how to dance. Girl's love guys who can dance, right?"

Grantaire wiped his face with a towel before throwing it over his shoulder, sighing as he stood. "Not still going on about Musichetta, are you?"

It was no secret that the man was helplessly in love with her. He had been pining after her extended affections for weeks without any prevail and by the look on his face, which could only be described as an explosive mix of desperation and embarrassment, he was at the end of his tether.

"She's not interested mate. You gave it a go and it didn't work the way you wanted it too. You need to move on, not learn how to waltz." He placed a hand on Joly's shoulder though it was shrugged off.

The other stared back painfully. "Please Grantaire, just this one thing and if it doesn't work then I'll move on."

Grantaire thought for a moment. He had no aversion to teaching his friend how to dance, it was Joly after all, but he knew he shouldn't have been encouraging him to have his heart broken. His head finally caught up at the same time Joly read it on his face. Both replayed the same message: Joly was a big boy and could take care of himself, and with that he nodded, picking up his backpack.

"Tomorrow morning. 11:30. Don't expect me to go easy just because we are friends."

Grantaire tapped his forehead sharply with the back of his hand, jolting his friend. "Stop looking at our feet. She wants to see you showing interest in her, not her shoes."

He had not been joking when he said he wouldn't go easy on him, but that might have been because as a teacher he never went easy on anyone. Dancing might have been his hobby, but he still understood the drive that needed to go behind it.

Joly took a step back from him, shaking out his arms like a stroppy child having a tantrum. "I'm going to trip over them if I don't."

Grantaire gave a disgruntled sigh. It had been a long few hours and though Joly had been an incredibly fast and gracious learner they were still fighting against Joly's anxious downward gazing… or in other words, his intensive staring at the floor through the entire dance.

After a second, third, fourth attempt at trying to keep his eyes on him without much success, Grantaire ended the lesson and took a deep breath.

"I think I've got it. It's only the eye contact thing."

"The 'eye contact thing' is one of the most important parts." Grantaire replied, taking a seat on one of the old chairs which had been pushed to the wall so they could practise. He didn't wait for Joly to ask before he continued. "You need capture her with your eyes. When you do, you turn into a prince charming no matter who you are."

Joly took a deep breath and raised his arms again. "Okay, one more go."

He smiled, taking his hand again and shifted them round. And Joly did try his eyes flickering down every now and again to being with, then a lot more. Once his eyes were firming on the ground again Grantaire rolled his eyes and with a loud laugh said "Your lady is losing interest."

At that Joly laughed, and then it stopped dead, a blush spread over his cheeks. "Hey chief."

"Joly" Came a formal greeting from behind Grantaire, and a voice which he recognised all too well. He spun around with a smirk to see the blonde leader by the door.

"I didn't figure you'd be the type to dance Enjolras."

"I left a folder in your car so I came to collect it. I have to finish my plans tonight."

"Oh, what an exciting life you lead."

Joly stepped round them, thanking Grantaire with a pat on the shoulder before leaving the two to themselves, feeling rather pleased with his efforts as he left. If Musichetta wasn't impressed at least with his efforts them she wasn't a girl he wanted to be with… he couldn't even lie convincingly to himself, he thought on the way out.

"At least my plans aren't useless self-indulgences." Enjolras continued once the door shut.

"You only say that because you cannot handle someone being better at something than you."

"Anything that distracts me for my work is something I'll gladly be bad at. I don't have time for dancing or awkward staring."

"I'd offer you a lesson but we both know you'd fall in love with my awkward staring and that would just crush your heartless bastard image now, wouldn't it?" Grantaire smirked, running a hand through his hair.

"I doubt there is anything that would make me fall in love with you Grantaire. Especially not your silly little moves."

"You're wrong. I would stake my reputation."

"Not your alcohol then?"

"I'm not that confident. I'll be dancing with marble after all."

When or why Enjolras had agreed to it is still uncertain, but here they were.

"Relax your arms. You aren't at one of daddy's formal parties now, rich boy."

They fought for several steps, both through the dance and vocally. Enjolras was used to leading but there was no chance of Grantaire relenting the position his teaching put him in. He was going to lead, and Enjolras was going to be a good little student and follow.

It was a chore but after a while Enjolras relaxed into his grip with a sharp glare and spun out, a little awkwardly as he wasn't used to being on the other end. He was a confident dancer for someone who was famously bad at dance, having learnt for his father's parties this was probably the only one he knew. Grantaire imaged what he would look like at one of those events, all dressed up uncomfortably with serious face as he spun round some rich beauty hoping to bat her eye-lashes and spark some interest in him. Poor creatures, he couldn't help but think. But it was easy to criticise, now it was his turn.

He relaxed his expression, and softened his eyes. That is where the challenge really began.

Enjolras didn't know how it had got to this stage. He was certain it was all really down to the close proximity and powerful pulls of the others arms. One thing was certain, it had never been like this when he had danced with others, the girls, his other instructors.

The hands on his waist sent tingles through him with every little unintentional rub of the others thumb on the other side of his t-shirt. The way the others hands tightened and relaxed against him had him fighting back pleasant shivers every other moment. It was a strain to keep an indifferent face, letting it slip once in a while though it must have been very similar to his aggravated face because Grantaire regarded him with the same reassuring smile.

His eyes swelled with an intense passion that looked so strange on him. That is what the others must have meant when they said that Grantaire's dancing could have given his speeches a run for their money… If he didn't look away then he was going to lose, but he didn't want to look away. That was the problem.

He took a deep breath, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, still attached to Grantiare's and used the brief distraction to look away. He was loving the attention even when he knew he shouldn't, his body loved the attention even more and he kept correcting himself as he noticed his back had arched into the others touch or he'd learnt in closer than he should.

"Look at me Enjolras. It's simple dance etiquette." He smirked "Didn't daddy ever teach you manners."

"Fuck off Grantaire." …but don't, he wanted to add. He needed him to keep his hands on him and run them down his sides. Please, he wanted to beg, rest them on his hips and squeeze them tight, press his hips against his… He wanted to feel his breath on his neck and hear his rasping voice in his ear.

His mind was a mess. He didn't even have the mental capacity to question how wrong the entire situation was. It was Grantaire, for goodness sake. Why would he be attracted to him and God why were his hands so loose on him? He needed him to grip him tighter.

If anything it proved his point about human intimacy being a distraction. He didn't need Grantaire to tell him to look back; he wanted to, it was all he wanted. The man had drawn him in entirely; outside of the rich colours of the other's eyes he wasn't much sure of anything.

Grantaire was all too aware that Enjolras was struggling to keep his composure, just as he was aware of every arch of his back and subtle role of his hips in the others hands but like every other romantic glance or subjective movement he pulled while making his speeches he put it down to him repressing his annoyance.

Enjolras let his breathing lose control, face and neck flushed completely red. It took a good few moments before he realised they were no longer dancing.

In that moment they were just two men stood in each other's arms, staring into each other's eyes like some soppy cliché film, both desperately denying the existence of the others attraction so hard they could have kissed and still believed they were the only participant.

Grantaire was close enough to see the sweat beading on his forehead but he knew Enjolras, and knowing his active lifestyle gave him the stamina to handle the pressure of the activity itself, he resounded that the man was simply working himself into a frenzy at the possibility of being upstaged by the hobbyist he had grown to know as a drunken fool.

He was happy believing that was the case, unwilling to let his mind stretch to the absurdity that was him winning his argument. He couldn't allow himself to believe that. It was the safest opinion.

They both waited for the illusion to be broken by the other man's mocking remarks. Enjolras for how he had finally been broken down, Grantaire for how he was ridiculous for thinking Enjolras could feel anything for him.

His jaw tightening with the effort to keep his eyes gentle and his face calm, to stop his face from giving him away then it cracked and he looked away.

Before the other could move, Grantaire dropped his hands from Enjolras and picked up his bag, and walked out without a word.

Enjolras had never been a good judge of human attractiveness and appeal, he had never needed to be, but even then he had found himself wondering what girls had seen in someone like Grantaire. He was bulky with a stern composure, a chronic drinker who carried with him the smell of stale smoke. He always seemed to sport a torn t-shirt and paint-stained jeans, substituted for old joggers when he danced and boxed, not that you would notice over the unkempt mass of curls and bristly chin. He was messy both physically and mentally, and he couldn't help but wonder how despite all of this he still managed to end the evenings with some woman on his lap, desperately pining for his full attention.

Well, now he understood and once he heard the outer door of the studio swing shut he slumped to the floor to think.

In Grantaire's defence, he had never expected it to work. He held onto the thought of his failure throughout the entire dance in hopes that it would soften the blow when it came to finally letting him go. That is when he decided that he wouldn't look. He knew all too well Enjolras' range of unimpressed expressions and he didn't need to see another.

He threw his bag into the back of his car before landing hard in the driver's seat. The door slammed shut beside him and he clutched onto the steering wheel as if it would help anchor his raging thoughts. What a stupid idea, he chastised himself, slamming his hands into the steering wheel.

A knock at his window startled him and the door opened. A pair of hands landed on his shirt, heaving him out of the seat before he had any chance to react. His back hit the back door of his car, the blonde stood in front of him with a face painted with rage.

"What the fu-"

"No. You don't get to speak. You speak too much and at all the wrong times." Enjolras hissed. "You think you can just break people down and walk away like I'm just another one of your desperate women? It doesn't work that way!"

He had won, Enjolras had made that painfully obvious with his little outburst and while he should have been revelling in it he couldn't bring himself to be happy. It was Enjolras. It couldn't be… could it? "So Apollo caught up with the rest of us and he suddenly thinks he's the expert, how bloody typical".

"You just can't handle the fact that I have self-control."

He was breath taken and it showed in his voice, "Yes, because we all exercise self-control by slamming each other into cars" but it still came out harshly. Neither of them expected anything different, and secretly neither of them would have it any other way.

No. He insisted to himself. Enjolras didn't feel like normal people. His hands pried at the ones clutched on his shirt but they were unrelenting. "Feelings are a normal fucking thing Jean!"

Grantaire had used the first name card. Big mistake.

Had Enjolras' face not been furious before, it was manic now. His teeth bared, and his hands tightened till this knuckles looked like they could tear from under his skin. "You are a drunk, cynical waste of space! How dare you tell me what feelings are!"

"What are you so scared of? That you will fall in love, that you will care for someone? That it will get in the way of your plans well it won't Enjolras, you care about the rest of them and you will still risk all of their lives! I have so much respect for you, so much passion! Why do you find me so untrustworthy, detestable, unrespectable?!"

Enjolras let go violently and took a step back. "I do respect you, you idiot!"

"Do you?" Grantaire insisted, stepping into the space that Enjolras had left between them as if he were sizing up to him, suddenly portraying a teenage boy getting ready for a fist fight. "You don't show it. If you did would I really have had to do all this to get you to tolerate me for a few seconds longer? If you respected me you wouldn't called me a drunk fool and a mindless idiot like I'm just one of the riffraff!"

"You are a drunk fool and a mindless idiot. I'm not going to comfort your addictions to make you feel appreciated. Les Amis is a place of change; you didn't even know there were problems when you joined us. You've done nothing but sit on your ass and change drinks to my tab."

"I never expected you to say thank-you for all the nights I found you a blanket when you fell asleep at the Musain or drove you home because your binder was too heavy, or bailed you out when Combeferre was away, but attacking riot police so you could get away at the last protest or catching pneumonia from spending all night wondering the streets looking for support because you were getting angry would be nice!"

Both stood, catching their breath before one could bear to look at the other again. When Grantaire finally looked up Enjolras was still staring at the ground, eyebrows knitted together in concentration, though he looked very much like he was trying to repress tears.

"Thank-you…" He muttered after another moment, looking up at him barely before focusing back on the floor "…for what you've done. I do appreciate, we all do. The cause, really does."

Grantaire smiled, knocking Enjolras' arm with his shoulder. "You're welcome."

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Thanks for reading!


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